


Into the Darkness

by FireEye



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 12:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12887439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: Cecil rids himself of the Light.





	Into the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JackOfNone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackOfNone/gifts).



In the depths of the Castle Baron, beneath the deepest cellars, entombed within the earth itself, was interred a blade of legendary darkness.  It had been warded long ago, in a time beyond living memory, by sages of old and laid to rest.

Dark Knights were rare in the world.

Legends recorded them throughout history.  Some were sanctified, others vilified – in some cases, both aspects could be traced to a single individual, based on whose kingdom told the tale.  The first recorded account had been passed down in the kingdom of Baron, where the art was claimed to have sprung from a single village holding, now vanished into antiquity.  As well as the most recent – the woman whose sword was said to rest beneath the castle, centuries ago.

All stories shared a common thread: Dark Knights were men and women who changed the tide of history.

Cecil sat in the center of the mandala.  Surrounding him, sacred candles burned a dim blue.  Such stories chased one another back and forth through his head. 

Whatever Dark Knights were, their history was entwined with Baron’s own.

One by one, the candles burnt out.

***

The Cecil who emerged from the sanctum was not the same one who had gone in.  All at once, when the last candle went out, he knew something within him had changed.

To reach the blade, it was said, would require a certain dedication.

Standing in the Great Hall, he might have been trembling.

The Honor Guard lined the wall, posted at even intervals for his passing.  He knew some of these men, he thought at he passed them.  They were his age.  He had sparred with them on the training fields.  Their stare was distant, eyes cold.

The realm of his childhood felt strangely illusory.  His life before had been a dream, chased away by the dawn.

Perhaps, in his case, the dusk.

An uneven gait broke the silence; Kain shuffled towards him at an awkward tilt.  In stark contrast to the reception of the Guard, his friend smiled warmly.

Cecil found himself unable to smile back.  But Kain fell in beside him as he walked, and he was grateful for the company.

“You know, there’s still time to change your mind.”

“I think His Majesty would be most displeased if both of us went against his wishes.”

The youngest of the dragoons sighed, hiding the sting under the effort it took him to move.

“He’s changed,” Kain remarked, voice lowered.

“The world has changed,” Cecil told him.  “You shouldn’t have disobeyed him.”

Kain pulled himself ahead to block Cecil’s path, and raised himself up.

“Darkness has never suited you, Cecil.  Anyone can see it; all you have to do is look in a mirror.”

“Look to the mages,” Cecil replied, circling him, “Darkness is merely a tool.  Its wielder alone decides whether it is for good or for evil.”

They stared at one another for a long moment.  Then, as quickly as it had come, the tension between dissolved.

Kain looked away; Cecil looked down.

“I have a long night ahead.”

“Spoken as if I’m not going with you.”

Cecil scoffed.  “Into the cellars?”

“What kind of dragoon would I be if I couldn’t make it down a flight of stairs?”

Cecil’s eyebrows raised.  He flicked his gaze to the crutches Kain had been forced to rely on since the magic and the tattoos had been burned in, and back to his friend’s face.

 “A novice.”

The smile in his voice didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Kain glanced off again, trying not to grin.  Then shook his head.

“Look, I...”  His shoulders slumped, and he admitted out loud, “Rosa... said... she felt like you were going far away.”

Holding himself still, he unthreaded a charm from his belt, and held it out.

“She said to give you this.”

Cecil wondered why she hadn’t come herself.

Reaching for the thing, he stopped.  It wasn’t just a sense of mystical power, he could _perceive_ the strings of white magic surrounding the charm, like sunlight dancing through mist.

Cecil _knew_ why she hadn’t come herself.

“I can’t.”

To wield the Darkness itself, had to be a man who did not fear the dark.

***

Beneath the cellars were the sealed catacombs of Baron’s royalty.

In the furthest depths of the catacombs, there was one nondescript, unmarked passage that wound its way deeper.

Cecil felt uneasy.

The passage was lined with bones.

Not just bones, he found as he progressed – some recently slain had fallen here.  They seemed to have reached the end of the path, and then....

Dark as midnight, a pair of doors were set into the wall ahead.  Holding his breath, Cecil pressed his hands flat against them, and pushed them inward.

Beneath his hands, he felt the wards shudder and crack.

Old beyond memory, they dissolved into light.

***

The sword had been sheathed in stone.  Legend said it rested directly beneath the throne of Baron, and only one with the capacity to wield its darkness could awaken it from its resting place.

Whatever Cecil had been expecting from ancient legends of darkness and primordial night, it hadn’t been a chamber of crystalline light.

The floors, the walls – even the inside of the doors – were made of crystal tile, which bathed the room in a light from within.  At first, the room appeared empty.  But, _within_ the mirrored reflection of the far wall, a sword had been thrust into a pillar of raw crystal.

When Cecil turned to look behind him, it was there, between him and the door – a sliver of shadow, embedded in crystal, illusory and tangible in the center of the room.

Approaching the sword, circling it, he reached for its hilt.

He was not afraid of the Darkness, Cecil reminded himself.  Darkness was a force like any other, that had served the Kingdom in ages past.

His fingers settled upon the hilt, and he saw the woman who had put the sword to rest; she stood beside him, hand in place of his, bloodied and not long for this world.  No longer _part_ of this world.  Memories flowed into him, clashing and mingling and full of power, threatening to pour over.  Resolve flowed into him, strengthening his determination, tempering him to hold the Darkness.

Then he saw his reflection in the mirrored wall.

Clad not in dark armor, but white.

Shining with a light from within.

Bright.

 _So bright_.

The Sword of Darkness slid from its cradle.

From the surface of the far wall, his reflection stepped out of the mirror.

Uncertain, Cecil stood facing the Light within himself.

There was no legend for this part of the ordeal.

Raising the sword between them, he stood his ground.

His reflection held up his hand; the tip of the blade pierced his palm.  Droplets of blood beaded, dribbling warm and red down the sword’s blackened edge.

Cecil drew back the sword, raising it higher, defensively.  His reflection stared, first at his bloodied hand, then at Cecil himself.

Cecil closed his eyes.

To wield the power of Darkness demanded a sacrifice of the self.

 _So be it_.

Drawing forth the memories of the sword itself, Cecil called upon the Darkness.  It filled him, channeled through him, erupted from him.  Following the edge of the sword, it laid to ruin all within its path.

He opened his eyes; Cecil was alone in the crystalline tomb.  The sword of legend in his hand, still stained with ancient blood.

***

Cecil fell back against the door to the hidden chamber.

He didn’t feel _powerful_ , he felt...

He felt _weak_.  The Darkness had pulled something from him, and he didn’t know...

As he slumped against the door, his strength bled back into his limbs, and his breathing calmed... until, once it had, his breath caught in his throat.

Beyond the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears, was the scraping of bones.

There was still an unholy life to the bodies that lined the passageway.  The undead were shambling.

Cecil closed his eyes.

Raised the sword.

A sickening _crunch_ forced them open again.  The nearest skeleton hung limply, its skull impaled on the shaft of a spear.  With a swing, the bones went clattering down the corridor.

“Admit it, you’d be lost without me.”

The youngest of the dragoons wobbled, balancing most of his weight on his spear.  The Dark Knight of Baron smiled, a snicker catching in his throat.

“I’m not the one who can barely stand,” Cecil threw back.  Delving into the power that now lived within him, he stepped forward to unleash the wave of darkness into the corridor.  The undead, new and old, were thrown back along the floor.

It _hurt_.

Kain shook his head, twisting his balance just enough to send his spear through another skeleton; he swung it against the wall to reduce it to a pile of bones.  At his pained gasp, Cecil rested his hand on his shoulder, but Kain shrugged him off, tangling another skeleton on his weapon.

“You got the sword, didn’t you?”

The sword in question slashed through two skeletons in quick succession.  Cecil held it up before them, angling his head at Kain.

“Good.”  The bones were still rattling.  Joining together again as fast as they had been felled.  Kain threw Rosa’s charm amongst them, and pure white magic filled the corridor.  “ _Run_.”

***

The King of Baron heaped praise upon praise upon him.

Cecil stood, facing the hall.  Nobles and officers swore their fealty, one by one.

 _Heir to the kingdom_.

He saw himself and Kain and Rosa, younger all, running through the courtyard on childish adventures.  It seemed so long ago.

He saw the last Dark Knight’s life, before it burnt out in the catacombs below.

Would someone remember him, one day?  Through memories engrained in a sword?

When the formalities concluded, he sought Kain out.  And found him, leaning into the eave of a window that looked out over the courtyard.  They stood in comfortable silence, the warmth between them worth more than words.

“There might still be time to change your mind.”

“I like what I am,” Kain replied.  “Who I am.”

Through the gathered crowd, Cecil spotted a flash of cream and a shimmer of pink.  Kain looked up, and followed his gaze.

And scoffed gently.

Cecil’s wandering attention snapped back.  “ _What_?”

“Woe be the fate of my kingdom, the day my sworn brother discovered women.”

Kain met Cecil’s sheepish expression with a wry smile.

“Go on, go talk to her.”

He hesitated a moment longer; then, clasping Kain’s shoulder, Cecil disappeared into the crowd.

**Author's Note:**

> Baron's basements are scary.
> 
> I was going to try to get good ol' Milon in on it somehow, but the best I could do with was bones.


End file.
